To Korea

On the morning of November 19, American time, Kijo boarded a U.S. military transport with Chairman Park.

On the flight from New York to San Francisco the Chairman kept to a lounge fitted out in the tail of the aircraft, while Kijo sat nearer the nose among the American bodyguards and the staff of the United States Information Service traveling with them. It was the first real rest he had had in a long while.

New York had left no more room to breathe than Washington. In that capital of commerce he had met businessmen by the hour — General Van Fleet once again, the man who could open the way for American firms to invest in Korea, and the people from the business associations who had come to New York to court that capital. Somewhere in the press of it he had also met General MacArthur, now eighty-two, and stood before some five hundred Korean residents and students of the city at a gathering held to comfort them. The one mercy was that Lieutenant Colonel Han Sang-guk had recovered his health and taken over the interpreting, which ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠lightened the load on Kijo.

The flight from the East Coast to the West alone took twelve hours, and Kijo meant to spend them resting. He had been watching the American guards and the USIS men nearby play poker, and was just letting his eyes close, when Protocol Secretary Jo Sang-ho called him.

They went back to the lounge in the rear of the transport. Chairman Park set down the papers he had been reviewing, looked at Kijo, and broke into a grin.

"Once we get out west, you don't have to trail after me. Rest up properly at the hotel."

By now that easy, familiar you came off the Chairman's tongue as if it had always belonged there.

"This is the speech I'm giving the American businessmen in San Francisco. Look it over, and tell me how it sounds from a businessman's side."

Kijo took the papers and read. The draft urged investment across manufacturing — mining and industry, food processing, the whole of it — and promised that such investment would be kept safe. In concrete terms it offered the free remittance of profits earned in Korea, exemption from taxes and tariffs, and a pledge that the government would establish no state enterprise in any line of business a foreign investor had entered.

"It's good, Mr. Chairman."

"Will this much be enough?"

Kijo thought it over, then offered one suggestion.

"What if you also said you'd provide the land free of charge?"

"The land?"

"Yes. Korea will build the industrial estates and lay in the power, the water, and the roads, so they can come in without worrying. To a foreign investor, the first fear is how little infrastructure Korea has."

The government had too little infrastructure money to spread thin; better to concentrate it on industrial complexes and get something for it. Chairman Park nodded at the reasoning, then asked,

"Anything else?"

Kijo decided the moment had come to speak of Lee Hu-rak. The man was more than a gifted hand at people. He had a dozen talents, and he was tied to the economy as well.

"Please release Chief Secretary Lee Hu-rak."

"What?"

Chairman Park stared straight at him. They had been in the middle of economics, and Kijo had veered without warning into politics. His face asked, plain as speech, what on earth this was supposed to mean.

"Lee Hu-rak?"

"We need him if we're going to build the steel mill."

"What connection is there between Lee Hu-rak and a steel mill?"

Kijo unfolded the case he had prepared.

"Mr. Lee is from Ulsan. And among the men of Ulsan, there's a businessman who has made a great success of himself in Japan."

"Who is he?"

"In Japan they call him Shigemitsu Takeo. His original name is Shin Kyuk-ho."

"Shin Kyuk-ho? Is he close to Lee Hu-rak?"

"They know each other well."

Their houses lay within a ridge of each other. They had long been acquainted, and though they had not attended the same school, both had gone through agricultural ones. They were on terms of older brother and younger.

"So you want me to pull Lee Hu-rak out of prison and send him to this Shin Kyuk-ho?"

"Yes. A loan to build the steel mill will be hard to come by. Even if we get one, the interest will be heavy. The best course is to find a company willing to invest in the mill directly."

"And what does this Shin Kyuk-ho do in Japan?"

"He sells gum and candy."

"He's made a fortune selling that?"

"His company is the biggest of its kind in Japan. Seven-tenths of the gum sold there is his. He studied chemistry ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠in Japan, too, and he has a record of producing rubber and oils. Even if it isn't a steel mill, he could at least build us a soap factory."

Chairman Park took his time thinking. Kijo knew Shin Kyuk-ho had once been minded to put up a steel mill in Korea, and he hoped the Chairman would give his leave. To get that mill built, he would have to use every means there was.

After a long silence Chairman Park took out a cigarette, set it between his lips, and spoke.

"You're saying the same thing as Director Kim."

He meant Kim Jong-pil.

"The words are the same, but the reasons aren't. Director Kim said Lee Hu-rak was a man close to the Americans, and that if we want to set America's mind at ease, we have to let him go."

Chairman Park blew out a stream of smoke and rubbed his bloodshot eyes.

"Simply letting him go wasn't even enough, he said. We ought to make a place for him. A shame to throw away a man of his talents, and his standing with America is good, so he'd be useful kept close by."

Kijo nodded. Lee Hu-rak was a man who had held America's trust, and sharp enough to be called Zhuge Cao Cao. Chairman Park, having met him, must have taken a liking to him as well — in time he would make him chief presidential secretary, and later still director of the KCIA. Had it not been for the Yoon Pil-yong affair, the man might have climbed higher, and for longer.

"But if you're telling me to release Lee Hu-rak for the sake of bringing in investment, too, then I suppose that's what we ought to do."

Chairman Park let out a short laugh.

"Thank you, Your Excellency."

At the title, the Chairman smiled.

"You only seem to call me Excellency when you're pleased with me. Anyway — once Lee Hu-rak is out, go to Japan with him."

"Yes, Your Excellency."

The Chairman coughed through the whole of the talk. The weariness of the journey seemed to have settled into him.

The delegation remained in San ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠Francisco through the twenty-first, and that morning boarded a plane for Hawaii. When they landed at Honolulu Airport, the governor of Hawaii and the local Korean community were waiting to receive them.

Chairman Park was going down the line, taking each compatriot's hand, when security officer Park Jong-gyu roughly shoved him aside. Something black had jutted from the crowd, and Park Jong-gyu struck it down in a flash. It was a microphone. The USIS camera crew holding it stared at him as if they could not believe what they had just seen.

The compatriots startled, and the entourage froze — but the Chairman, shoved clear, looked at Park Jong-gyu and grinned.

"Quick enough when it counts, though."

Watching, Kijo felt no ease. He knew the historical fact of it: Park Jong-gyu had not, in the end, been so fine a bodyguard as that.

Reporters waiting at the airport put a question to the Chairman.

"Have you any thought of allowing Dr. Syngman Rhee, in exile here in Honolulu, to return home?"

"I have never considered such a thing," Chairman Park said, cutting it short.

But Kijo knew that Protocol Secretary Jo Sang-ho had been sent to Syngman Rhee to convey greetings.

At 1:45 in the early morning of November 24, the Korean delegation boarded a British airliner bound for Tokyo. They landed at 5:20 on the morning of the twenty-fifth. A special KNA flight had been arranged, but Japan had refused it landing clearance, and there was no plane to take them home. Held at the airport for an hour, the delegation was able to depart for Korea only after a counselor at the Korean Mission in Japan managed, at last, to secure a U.S. military transport.

As they entered Korean airspace, F-86 fighters rose to escort the plane carrying Chairman Park. Looking out at the fighters of the Korean Air Force, Kijo felt for the first time that he had truly come home.

They reached Gimpo around nine in the morning. Kijo was the last off the aircraft. The head of the delegation had judged that if a private businessman stepped down alongside the government party, the press might take it amiss. Even the reporters traveling with them, who knew the part Kijo had played in Washington, had been sternly warned not to put him in their stories for the time being. They seemed anxious that it would look like collusion between politics and business.

While the welcome unfolded, Kijo watched from inside the plane. Out on the Gimpo runway a military band had turned out, and students carrying the Taegeukgi, and government figures led by Cabinet Chief Song Yo-chan had assembled to a man. Madam Yuk Young-soo, holding Park Ji-man in her arms, was waiting for her husband.

When the ceremony ended and Chairman Park and the whole entourage had left the airport, Kijo rose in the emptied airliner and made for the door. He was trudging down the boarding stairs when Yeongeun's voice reached him.

"Dad!"

There were Sunrye and the children, and beside them Soon-young and Ma-ryang. Kim Seogwang, Seong Dae-ik, and every one of Cheongsan's department heads had come out to welcome him.

"Salute! For our President Lee, home from America!"

Kim Seogwang bellowed it, and the department heads, flustered for a beat, snapped to attention.

"Pa-pa-pa-ra-ra, pam pa-ba-pam!"

When Seogwang bugled a fanfare with his own mouth, laughter broke from the department heads.

Kijo hurried down the stairs, embraced Sunrye — their youngest, Yeongjun, in her arms — and gathered the children hard against him. Yeongeun was beside herself, covering his cheek in kisses. He managed, with some difficulty, to peel her off, and beginning with Ma-ryang shook hands with the department heads.

"Thank you for coming all the way out to the airport. I got back safely thanks to you."

With his family he left Gimpo, boarded a bus brought over from Cheongsan Transport, and rode into Seoul. The bus stopped in Jongno. Kijo stepped down, took Yeongsu and Yeongeun by the hand, and walked the alley toward home, the department heads following behind.

When he passed through the gate, the department heads' wives were in the yard preparing a feast.

"President, you're home? The meal's ready. Come on up to the main floor."

It was Lee Soon-nam, Seogwang's wife, who captained the women.

Kijo climbed onto the raised wooden floor of the main hall and looked at the food set out on the table. The labor of the hands that had made it showed in every dish. He sat, and the meal began. He took a few cups and fielded their questions. All of them wanted to hear about America.

"President, how was America? Give us a little of it. What were Washington and New York like? Did you and Chairman Park do some sightseeing?"

Seogwang asked.

"Ah, well..."

Kijo, who had done nothing but work and hurry after the delegation, had little to offer. He said the Lincoln Memorial in Washington had been magnificent, and the White House large and fine. Anything more vivid, he simply did not have. So Seogwang asked again.

"President, you brought gifts, didn't you? We aren't looking for anything ourselves. Just let us have a look at what you bought for the family. Did you happen to get the madam a sewing machine?"

Kijo was cornered. On an ordinary trip abroad he would have picked up at least some small souvenir, but this time had been different. Moving at a dead run with the delegation, he had found no time to buy anything, and even when a chance appeared he had not dared, for fear of how it would look.

"Well..."

When he could not give a proper answer, Ma-ryang took Seogwang to task.

"Look at you — a monk with eyes only for the offerings. He got home safe, and that's enough. Gifts? What gifts?"

"Ma-ryang, why talk like that? Now I'm the only villain. I just figured everybody was curious, so I stuck my neck out."

"I'm not curious. Director Kim, the ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠president looks well. That's enough for me."

Shim Hansu said it with a smile, and Seong Dae-ik chimed in after him.

"Hey, what is this — why am I the only one..."

While Seogwang floundered, Kijo spoke.

"Since I forgot the gifts, I'll pay for the crime with a song."

"Oh! Brother-in-law's going to sing!"

Soon-young clapped. Kijo stood and launched into a number.

It was "A Thousand Li of Affection," the Park Jae-hong song he loved, and Seogwang, clapping in time, said,

"President, you just got here — where are you off to now?"

Everyone laughed at that, and then they all took up the chorus together.

When the feast was over and everyone had gone, Kijo smoked a cigarette in the yard. Jet lag had left his head thick. Sunrye came up to him.

"You must be exhausted. Rest. I've made up a bed."

She led him to the house next door. In the empty room where Shim Hansu and Jin Hyeon-gyeong had lived, and Kim Jong-pil and his wife, bedding had been laid out. Sunrye had put it there so the children would not disturb his sleep.

"I'll wake you around dinnertime."

"Thank you."

Kijo went into the room alone, undressed, and lay down on the thick quilt. He was tired, and yet — perhaps because his body was still on the hours when he would have been hard at work in America — sleep would not come. His eye fell on the low desk in the room. It was Yeongsu's.

So while I was away, Yeongsu studied in here.

He thought he ought to let the boy have this room. The year after next, Yeongsu would be in middle school. The three children shared a room now, and if the boy was to give himself to his studies, it would be better to set one aside for him.

Kijo sat up and opened the book lying on the desk where his son worked. It was the fifth-grade, second-term Social Life textbook. Traces of the boy's labor were everywhere — underlines, notes taken in earnest — and the sight brought a smile to his face. He looked all the way to the last page. Printed there was the colophon.

Without the help of United Nations bodies and aid agencies, Korea could not even publish its own textbooks. That was the reality of it. Kijo let out a shallow sigh and closed the book. Korea still had a long way to go. And the knowledge that the changes set loose by the American visit might bring good and ill at the same time lay heavy on his heart.